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Authors: H. F. Heard
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registering pleasure as the five shillings passed silently from the lean detective fingers to the round fine hand that I felt sure was light with pastry and firm with kitchen maids, broke out with, âJust had a telegram and Mr. Millum is coming back! He took it so hard, you know, Sir. Just shows what a good heart he has. Not an eye in the whole neighborhood was the dimmer, Iâll warrant, when our over-the-way took himself off. A good riddance, I say, and they seldom do, but this did!â
The syntax of that sentence is obscure, but I have faithfully remembered it, and its sense was not really cryptic.
âEven Jane, whom I will own is a worker, if a bit on the garulious side, and doesnât mind who she works for, as long as they lets her work as she likesâI was never that sort myselfâbut even Jane had her views and feels her reliefs. But Mr. Millum is that softhearted and sensitive, as you might say, that he felt it just like a shock. There he was, always running over to that side of the road, though that side, of all my time, and thatâs in years now, never set foot here, and that Iâm glad to say. Youâd have thought heâd be relieved; for Jane has so often told me that I was near tired of hearing it, that Mr. Millum would be treated as though he wasnât there, while all the while he was all interest and niceness, until something wanted being done, and then he could do it and just whistle for any thanks. Indeed, time and again heâd suggest doing some little thing and would grudgingly be let. Itâs all the wrong way, anyone who has brought up a brat knows that; but there, he has such a kind heart, and thank Heaven he lives with such as can appreciate a real gentleman when they sees it.â
We took our leave, feeling that such a homecoming shouldnât run any risk of being run into by strangers. Besides, quite possibly the unknown Millum might prefer that strangers had not been using his house.
As we walked home through the pleasant afternoon light, although my steps were far from unsteady, I was in that ruminative mood in which enough good cider can put the mind. I did not feel inclined to interrupt Mr. M.âs silence, and evidently, as I had so successfully countered his two attempts to stump me, he had no wish to talk to me.
After dinner he was silent and went off to bed. I had thought he would suggest our going back to town; but I myself proposed nothing, partly because I was drowsy, and partly because I hadnât made up my mind about the house now without an owner. I was very much taken with it, and to discover such a place untenanted was a find. Perhaps, as Mr. M. said, since the late occupant had removed himself while outside the actual building, the unconventionality of the method ought to be overlooked in favor of the convenience of the results. If I worked in that bower, I would work there during the day and not at night.
Certainly this night passed without any untoward premonitory dreams. After breakfast the next morning, Mr. M. left me for a few moments with the paper, in which I saw nothing but advertisements of houses which just would not do. So I was in the right mood when he came back and asked would I like to have one more look at the Red Brick of 1760. Off we went, and Jane gave us the usual reception. That, too, made me feel that the place couldnât really keep on with a bad atmosphere. Mr. M. stayed on with her a moment, no doubt cementing their friendship, which I didnât regret if we might be going to live in the house and I didnât have to do the cementing. âMarble, not mortar, is my métier,â I murmured to myself (for I think alliteration is too much despised today) as I strolled out to the marble-furnished arbor.
It had resisted quite successfully any sense of the uncanny. Its years of equanimity and seemly spaciousness were evidently able to deal quite well with such a small contretemps as a selfish suicide.
The syntax of that sentence is obscure, but I have faithfully remembered it, and its sense was not really cryptic.
âEven Jane, whom I will own is a worker, if a bit on the garulious side, and doesnât mind who she works for, as long as they lets her work as she likesâI was never that sort myselfâbut even Jane had her views and feels her reliefs. But Mr. Millum is that softhearted and sensitive, as you might say, that he felt it just like a shock. There he was, always running over to that side of the road, though that side, of all my time, and thatâs in years now, never set foot here, and that Iâm glad to say. Youâd have thought heâd be relieved; for Jane has so often told me that I was near tired of hearing it, that Mr. Millum would be treated as though he wasnât there, while all the while he was all interest and niceness, until something wanted being done, and then he could do it and just whistle for any thanks. Indeed, time and again heâd suggest doing some little thing and would grudgingly be let. Itâs all the wrong way, anyone who has brought up a brat knows that; but there, he has such a kind heart, and thank Heaven he lives with such as can appreciate a real gentleman when they sees it.â
We took our leave, feeling that such a homecoming shouldnât run any risk of being run into by strangers. Besides, quite possibly the unknown Millum might prefer that strangers had not been using his house.
As we walked home through the pleasant afternoon light, although my steps were far from unsteady, I was in that ruminative mood in which enough good cider can put the mind. I did not feel inclined to interrupt Mr. M.âs silence, and evidently, as I had so successfully countered his two attempts to stump me, he had no wish to talk to me.
After dinner he was silent and went off to bed. I had thought he would suggest our going back to town; but I myself proposed nothing, partly because I was drowsy, and partly because I hadnât made up my mind about the house now without an owner. I was very much taken with it, and to discover such a place untenanted was a find. Perhaps, as Mr. M. said, since the late occupant had removed himself while outside the actual building, the unconventionality of the method ought to be overlooked in favor of the convenience of the results. If I worked in that bower, I would work there during the day and not at night.
Certainly this night passed without any untoward premonitory dreams. After breakfast the next morning, Mr. M. left me for a few moments with the paper, in which I saw nothing but advertisements of houses which just would not do. So I was in the right mood when he came back and asked would I like to have one more look at the Red Brick of 1760. Off we went, and Jane gave us the usual reception. That, too, made me feel that the place couldnât really keep on with a bad atmosphere. Mr. M. stayed on with her a moment, no doubt cementing their friendship, which I didnât regret if we might be going to live in the house and I didnât have to do the cementing. âMarble, not mortar, is my métier,â I murmured to myself (for I think alliteration is too much despised today) as I strolled out to the marble-furnished arbor.
It had resisted quite successfully any sense of the uncanny. Its years of equanimity and seemly spaciousness were evidently able to deal quite well with such a small contretemps as a selfish suicide.
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